


The Beginning of Something Beautiful

by princesslexileanne



Series: A Day in the Life of Johnlock [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), bbc - Fandom
Genre: BBC, F/M, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock - Freeform, it will be soon, leaving mary
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-30
Packaged: 2018-03-25 14:33:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3814078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesslexileanne/pseuds/princesslexileanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Mary are separating. John's moving back into 221B. Everything will be just as it was in the past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mary's Decision

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY. SO ITS NOT JOHNLOCK YET. I just have to get John away from Mary, and then the Johnlock can begin. Just hold off a couple chapters. I promise its coming. GIVE ME ALL OPINIONS. ESPECIALLY BAD ONES. I WONT GET BETTER IF YOU DON'T TELL ME.

"I'm sorry." The doctor shook his head slowly. "There's no other answer. There's nothing we haven't tried." He took John's hand in his own and shook his head. "The infant is dead. I am so sorry for your loss." The words echoed against his skull. Sorry for your loss. Loss. Dead. Loss. John felt his knees lock. His shoulders tightened and he rose up to his whole height.   
"May I see my wife?" He asked coldly, trying to keep his eyes in focus. His vision was blurring around the edges. Shock? No. John instinctively began diagnosing himself, a habit from his military days. Pain.  
"Of course." The doctor nodded sympathetically and held the door open as John walked in. Mary looked up, her face paler than normal, which made the bags under her eyes look all the darker.   
"Mary." John whispered, walking to the side of the bed and kneeling. "Are you okay? How do you feel?" He asked, pressing one hand to her forehead. Mary closed her eyes and pulled John's hand away.  
"The baby's gone.... John? Is she gone?" Mary looked right through him, trying to pull herself back to reality.   
"Oh love, she's... yes... she's gone..." John whispered, feeling a warm tear roll down his face. Mary nodded slowly.   
"I can't do this John. I can't love you. Not after this." She replied,shaking her head softly. John straightened up and crooked his head, wiping the tear away.   
"Mary, you don't know what you're saying." He protested.   
"No, John, I do. We both knew what was going to happen. This... the us we thought we were... That was all a lie.." She gave him a sad smile. "And now that we both know... It's too painful. It's no fun pretending when your game has been spoiled." John stared at her in disbelief.   
"Mary, I love you."   
"But John, it's not enough." She whispered. There was a moment of silence as they stared blankly into the other's eyes. "It won't be enough any more."   
"You're right. You're always right Mary." John grasped her hand tightly in his. "And I'm so sorry. About ... about her..." He mumbled, looking away.   
"It's going to be okay. It's going to get better now. And now we can be the friends we were before, and find the people that make us happy." Mary assured him. "I can't hold you here. Go find the person that makes you feel young, John. Find the person that makes you smile." She patted his cheek softly. He nodded, and kissed her cheek softly.   
"I'm gonna go then." He stood, but didn't let go of her hand. "But Mary, Ii do love you." He whispered. "I always have." She nodded.   
"I know. And I loved you..." Mary let go of his hand and they softly fell apart. "I'm sorry it had to happen like this."  
"Me too." John looked back at the door. "What am I supposed to do now?" He murmured. She laughed once, a smart, sarcastic laugh.   
"Back to home I suppose. No use hanging around here waiting on me." She sat up a bit. "I'll be here for a few days and there's no reason to have you sitting here." John looked back at her and smiled softly.   
"The house is yours Mary." He looked back to the door. "Besides, Harry'll let me stay with her for a bit." He hoped. Mary scoffed.   
"Well, John, I wasn't really talking about my home... I meant yours." John frowned.   
"My home? But we've lived together-"  
"John." Mary gave him a are-you-serious look. "I mean YOUR home." She said. John tilted his head in confusion. Mary sighed dramatically. "Go home to Baker street Mr.Watson." She suggested, pointing towards the door. John shuffled his feet.   
"Mary, I don't really think-"  
"That Sherlock will let you live in your own flat?" She finished. He hid a smile. "Go on. Hopefully we'll see each other soon. On better terms." She whispered, slumping back into the bed. He hesitated, looking at her like she was a kicked puppy. "It didn't work John. We didn't work. Go back to the place you were happiest." She said finally, and he snapped out of it.   
"You're right. I'm sorry Mary. Truly, I am." He headed toward the door slowly.   
"John?" Mary called as his finger tips touched the nob. He turned, viewing her smirk. "Tell the great Mr. Holmes I said hello." John grinned at his shoes.  
"I will Mary." He turned the knob and headed out.  
"Oh and John?" He peeked his head back in. She gave him a real smile. A genuine smile that he had missed so badly. "Thanks for everything. It was a whirlwind."


	2. Welcome Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John heads over to Baker st. to see if he will be accepted back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this chapter is so short!! I'm working on making them longer, and for some reason I was just seriously blocked on this chapter. I'll make the next one twice as long. I promise. And Johnlock IS coming! Its just... not.... quiet... there.

John faltered before knocking. It wasn't that he was EMBARRASSED about Mary wanting a divorce. That wasn't it at all. It was just.... He couldn't believe Mary'd left him. He couldn't believe that he had lost his child today. His first and only baby girl was gone. And so was his wife. Sherlock would accept him back, but it wouldn't be without questions from Mrs. Hudson, and eventually he'd have to explain to Sherlock. People would talk. 'Dr. Watson left his wife for the surely detective!' they'd say. John shook his head and banged on the door. He'd managed to get past Mrs. Hudson's flat without being sensed, and he just had to get into-  
"John!" Mrs. Hudson shouted. He had planned to feel angry, or irritated at least, but at the sound of her voice he felt relieved. Like he could finally relax.   
"Mrs. Hudson!" He said, turning around. She put on hand on his cheek and tsked.   
"Where is that Mary of yours and that baby! Are they here with you?" She asked, looking around. John grimaced.  
"No, Mary... Mary miscarried..." He explained quietly. Her face fell and she jerked her hand away.  
"No." She whispered. John nodded silently. "Is she okay? That poor woman. I've heard the few days after a miscarriage are always the hardest."   
"Mary and I spoke... and sh- we agreed that it would be best if we parted ways." John tried to explain.   
"Oh you poor dear! I suppose you're here to ask Sherlock about the flat, well let me tell you, if he has any objections about it I'll have a word with him. You don't just turn family out in a time like this. No sir," Mrs. Hudson walked around him and opened the door, walking right in and looking around. "Sherlock!" She hollered, heading into the kitchen. John smiled and followed her, shaking his head and closing the door behind him.   
"'Mrs. Hudson, don't worry about me. I've got everything handled. I've got to run back to the house and pick up some clothes." John assured her, laying one hand on her shoulder. Mrs. Hudson smiled up at him.   
"Alright dear. I don't think Sherlock's home at the moment. Do you still have your key?" She asked. John nodded briefly. "Okay. You tell me if you need anything, John." She walked out of the apartment mumbling something about she wasn't a.... housekeeper? John sighed and looked around the flat, taking a deep breath. Almost nothing had changed. Everything was as it had been for quiet some time. He chuckled and headed out of the flat, closing the door behind him. He'd just run home and get a box or two of his things. Mrs. Hudson seemed adamant that he stay here, and honestly, he had no where else to be. If Sherlock had a terrible issue with him staying here, then he would just rent 221C from Mrs. Hudson.   
He drove back out to Mary's house and packed a couple of suitcases worth of clothes and a box of his things. Other than that he just had some books. He'd come back for those later. John saw no need to grab a photo album or scrap book, as he wasn't sure he wanted to remember the 'whirlwind' of time they'd spent together. He needed to focus on something else. Something like... Sherlock Holmes. He smiled at the thought and carried his things out to the car. Mary would probably want her car back when all was said and done. He shrugged. He could drive it back later and take a cab. He slid into the driver's seat as his phone buzzed.   
Mrs. Hudson tells me you've been inquiring about a flat mate. -SH  
John's grin got a bit wider.   
If its alright with you, I'd like to move back in. -John w.   
The response didn't come until he was almost back to Baker st.   
I have no objection. -SH  
Welcome home John. -SH   
John parked and looked up to see Sherlock's silhouette at the window, rocking in time with some music. He grabbed his things and headed up. Being unable to open the door, he knocked with his foot and waited, listening to the violin stop playing and Sherlock stride to the door.   
"Ah. There you are. Mrs. Hudson explained about..." He stopped and cleared his throat.   
"It's... it's fine." John said, shaking his head. "Don't-"  
"So sorry," He stammered.   
"No, It's okay." He assured him. "I'm going to take these to the bedroom." John could feel his eyes staring at him as he left. John didn't need his pity. Not now. He dropped my things on the already made bed and sighed. He was back to where he had been 3 years ago. Living with a detective, single, and shockingly... okay. Three sharp raps pulled him out of his thoughts. Sherlock stood awkwardly in the door way.   
"John, I was wondering if you... if you were hungry.. I was going to go to Italian if you would like to join me." He said, his hands behind his back. John sighed and glanced up. Sherlock's hopeful face disappeared. "You don't have to." He added.   
"I could eat." John said finally, standing up. Sherlock straightened up and nodded once.   
"Right. I'll grab my coat." He turned and hurried away silently. John chuckled and shook his head. They were EXACTLY where they had been 3 years ago. Dancing around the obvious, and going out to Angelo's. He rubbed his face and headed out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. He followed Sherlock out of the flat and down the stairs, saying nothing as he hailed a cab and climbed inside. "So whats this about?" He asked finally. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  
"We're going to dinner?" He said, forming it as a question. John smirked.   
"You're going to eat, for no reason without any influence?" He said skeptically. Sherlock looked forward.   
"I never said I planned on eating. I said I planned on going to Italian. You assumed I would eat on your own." Sherlock snorted. John crossed his arms over his chest but didn't say anything. As they pulled up, Sherlock tossed a few notes at the driver. "Coming?" He asked, standing at the door. John slid out and followed him inside of the restaurant.  
"Boys! How long has it been?! Too long, too long." Angelo cheered, coming over and patting Sherlock on the back. "It's good to see you back together." He said, guiding them towards a table. John noticed Sherlock glance at him but he just shrugged. Who cared anymore what Angelo thought. If it made him happy to believe that they were together John might as well let him. "I'll leave you too alone for a minute." Angelo smiled and winked at them before waddling back to the kitchen.   
"So..." John said, scanning the menu briefly. "You are actually going to eat something, aren't you?" Sherlock frowned slightly.   
"Why? I see no need."   
"Because, Sherlock. Its unhealthy." John scolded. "When was the last time you ate something?" He asked. Sherlock was silent for a second.   
"Tuesday." He said finally. John groaned and pushed the bread stick basket towards him. Sherlock gave them a look of disgust.   
"Sherlock. Eat. You can't go three days without eating." He protested. Sherlock glared out the window before taking one and taking a sarcastic bite.   
"I hope you're happy with yourself." He grumbled as he chewed. John sat back with a content look and snorted.   
"I'll be content after you've eaten." He retorted as Angelo walked up. "Two of the spaghetti." He said cheerfully, passing him the menus. Angelo jotted something down on his pad and gave them a nod.   
"Right away boys."


	3. Falling Asleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS IS TAKING SO LONG. This isn't as long as I wanted, and its still not quite johnlock, BUT I PROMISE IT WILL BE. SORRY NOT SORRY.

John stared at the ceiling in silence. It was his first night alone in.... he'd forgotten how long it'd been. He rolled over and glared at his alarm clock and the red numbers, glowing in the darkness. 1:29. He groaned and sat up. This is your fault. You weren't enough for her. He thought. He tossed his legs over the side of the bed and balanced his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. You're rubbish at relationships. And now she's gone. She's gone, and the baby's gone. You're never going to be able to get a chance like that again. He shook his head. Move on John. You have to stop this. But it was too late. His soul felt stretched. Pulled into a thousand different positions and shredded, like butter stretched over too much bread. He felt his shoulders heaving, and the tears puddling into his palms before he knew he was crying. A feeling of guilt, loss, abandonment, grief - it all collapsed on him, and he sobbed harder. He thought of a million moments that had seemed like nothing, that added up to a heartbreaking amount of failure. He cried until he couldn't cry, and the clock read 2:16, and everything burned. He was just dry heaving, and he nearly felt the contents of his stomach rise to his throat.   
"No... no.." He whispered. John couldn't breath. His chest heaved and burned. Oh god. He closed his eyes tightly and sat up straighter. He was a solider dammit. He wasn't weak. John curled his hands into fists and struggled to breathe. He had almost gotten his breath back when a thin, sharp note cut through the air. He took a deep, shaky breath and let it out, listening as the single note spun and transformed into a sweet symphony of peace. He imagined watching the note as it turned colours and danced around the room, dragging along with it an endless stream of music. His breath slowed down enough that he could think again. "Sherlock." He whispered to himself, standing up and rubbing his face in his hands. He walked to the bathroom slowly and sighed, glaring at his reflection. He looked like hell. His eyes were pink and puffy, his cheeks red and sore. His shoulders sagged a little, and his hair was pointed in every direction.   
He needed a cuppa. He splashed some warm water on his face and headed out into the hall, marching towards the kitchen quietly. The music haltered for a second before picking back up and John smiled softly. Sherlock wasn't totally gone then, off in his mind palace. He rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs and faltered, catching a glimpse of Sherlock's back, swaying softly in front of the moonlit window. He was wearing sweatpants and his blue dressing gown, his hair scruffy, with curls poking out everywhere. Seemingly beautiful and lost in himself. John leaned against the wall and sighed silently, watching him admiringly. He had known for quiet some time that Sherlock was a beautiful man. It had been almost painful to deny himself the simple pleasure of watching Sherlock play.   
"Can't sleep either?" Sherlock asked after a few minutes, his low voice rumbling through the air in accompaniment to the music. John straightened a bit and looked away, turning slightly pink at the thought of his slight obsession.   
"Oh, no. Can't sleep." He said confusedly. "I was just going to put the kettle on." He reminded himself, heading towards the kitchen. The music didn't stop, instead, flowing into a different song that John had never heard. He slumped against the counter while waiting, thinking about nothing and at the same time contemplating the existence of life. He tried not thinking about the dark haired, slender, detective in the other room. But my word he's... John tried to chase the thought away. He wasn't attracted to men. He just wasn't. He was attracted to women. And consulting detectives, a voice in his head pointed out. Although, to be fair, MOST people were attracted to Sherlock Holmes. John Watson just happened to be in the minority. The kettle whistled next to him and his head snapped up, reaching over and pulling it off without a second thought, pouring two cups and dumping two cubes of sugar in Sherlock's before taking it out and offering it to him. Sherlock glanced at it before slowly ending the song and laying the violin down on the chair.   
"Thank you." He said after a moment, sipping at the tea cautiously. John nodded and settle in to one his chair. They drank in silence for a minute before Sherlock placed his tea on the coffee table and picked his violin back up. John leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. He fell asleep within minutes. 

When he woke, he was still in his chair, covered by a blanket. He could hear faint ticking, and when he looked around, he spotted Sherlock sitting at the table and peering into a microscope.   
"Good morning." John mumbled, rubbing his face. Sherlock didn't respond. He threw the blanket off and stood slowly, stretching and glancing around for a clock. "What time is it?" He asked drowsily. Sherlock finally looked up.  
"It's almost 10 now." He said curtly, before returning his gaze to his work. John's eye widened.   
"I'm late for work!" He dragged one hand through his hair and headed towards the bedroom quickly. He heard Sherlock scoff.   
"John I've already called and told them you were ill." He said with a sigh. John stopped and walked backwards until he could see Sherlock. He stood and just stared.   
"Wh... why would you do that?" He asked with a small hake of his head. Sherlock didn't respond for a second, but knowing John wasn't going to go anywhere sat up. He looked irritated.   
"You obviously aren't fit to go into work. You cry in your sleep and come out to get a cup of tea at two in the morning, although by your appearance you'd obviously been up for quite some time." He pointed at his face. " The redness of your eyes says you'd been crying long before that. I'd say an hour or so. You'd been raking your fingers through your hair, suggesting trying to calm yourself down. You blame yourself for what happened even though it is highly unlikely to have anything to do with you at all. You're tired, you can't function properly. You're ill." He deduced. John took half a step back and looked away.  
"Al... alright then." He nodded. "Alright." He turned and headed for the bedroom. It was useless, trying to keep anything from Sherlock Holmes. Not that he was trying really, but it stung that he was so easily read. He took deep breaths as he pulled a blue jumper over his head. It was uncharacteristically sweet for Sherlock to do something like like this, but you'd think he would know not to expect any one sort of behavior by now. He pulled on a pair of jeans and went back to the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson was rambling and Sherlock was ignoring her. "A case?" He asked, sitting across from Sherlock and accepting the tea Mrs. Hudson passed him.   
"Yes. I'm studying the fibers of the 2nd cousins winter coat now to observe if the type of plastic coating matches the same chemical materials in the victim's clear nail coating." He murmured, not looking up. "I'll be heading down to the yard shortly. Come with?" He sat up a bit straighter and raised an eyebrow. John blinked a few times. Did he really have to ask?   
"Of course." He said, sipping at the tea. "'Why- why wouldn't I?"


End file.
